


Reaver's Fall and Retribution

by ParentNacho



Category: Fable (Video Games), Fable 2 (Video Game), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Long Fic Maybe?, Mentions of Reaver's Psyche, Shadow Court, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:03:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParentNacho/pseuds/ParentNacho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploring can be tiring on any normal person. But, as well all know, Reaver surpassed being a normal person. His night terror's are getting stronger, and as the time for his sacrifice rolls around again, he must return to Bloodstone to retrieve some poor sod to present to the Shadow Court so that he can be done with this whole business. But when he returns, he receives a surprise visit from an old battle buddy and is informed of Sparrow's current condition and position as Queen of Albion, and said Queen as requested an audience with HIM. </p><p>(This is just for the beginning. I'm not quite sure where I want to go with this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And so it begins......

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fic, any kind of criticism is welcomed.

**Their screams are the only music you hear from the devil's fiddle**

**This wont last, you are, after all, still human**

**You are bound to miss a sacrifice**

**And we will be there when you do**

He shot up from the horizontal position he held on the ruddy floor. He briefly wondered where his bed had gotten to, before coming to the conclusion that he had fallen from it. His hand reached out for a pistol, out of habit, then recoiling, remembering that he had removed them before he retired to his bed. With a sigh, he heaved himself up off the floor and fumbled towards the desk on the opposite side of his quarters. His fingers delicately traced the patterns on the handle of his Dragon Stomper, one out of the two in his set. The metal was cool, the same as the ocean air that drifted in through his window.

 **You don't deserve to have dreams**

**You're wretched**

Wow, they certainly are persistent tonight. It but a week away from his appointed day. He had plenty of time to acquire the type of sacrifice that the Shadow Court asked for year after year. The Pirate King let his hand fall back down to his side, standing still for a moment. He was not truly an evil man. His immortality had come at a price, one he had not understood until the deal had been carried out. He still remembers the day he turned Oakvale into Wraithmarsh, the look of horror on each and every villager.....especially her face.

The Shadow Court was not a forgiving people. He hadn't really been looking for immortality. He had walked into the temple that day, looking to outrun a childhood sickness that had plagued him late into his developing years as a man. He wanted to be strong, not weak and on the verge of death the minute the air drops a fraction of a degree.  
They had told him that it was a costly process, but he had thought living was worth it.

**"I don't want to die."**

On his best days, he was begging to be released, but hid behind a thick mask of sex, alcohol, and money.  
He was currently making the journey back to Bloodstone for his annual appointment. The town itself was conveniently located on the very edge of Wraithmarsh. The actual quality of the town, however, was severely lacking. This hovel was the very birthplace of filth and scum, intermingling with drugs, disease, and poverty. There was hardly a corner that was not being worked by a half dead or intoxicated whore. It was also a town of experimenting, any type of fantasy you could think of was bred and played out in back alleys and basements of the local thrall. 

The perfect location for picking of a deserving human to die.

Reaver cast his eyes towards an old journal that he carried with him as a reminder. Within its well worn pages are memories of things doomed to be repeated, should he miss an appointment.

.....................................................  
Entry 25  
I have come to realize that should I stop bringing the scum I pick up from that rabble town, to the temple, surely the Court will have to revoke my ability to live on. I could finally succumb to my own mortality, and see her again. The next day for sacrifice is tomorrow, but for tonight, I shall drink my woes away, for my death is imminent. 

**Had he known the circumstances, he would have brought the dame he met that night to the court immediately after their romp in the inn's dirty bed. The Rich Suite my bleedin' arse.**

Entry 26  
Mistake. A grave mistake. As it turns out, the Court is much more cunning than I gave them credit for. I made my way to the temple the day after our scheduled appointment, to take my punishment gladly. I had been told, a lifetime ago, many stories of the Banshees. The spirits that take on the form of a woman, and will play upon your misery. Some even bring their children out to remind you of the smaller details. Imagine looking into the face of a young boy, right as he begins to recount the story of the night you committed a mass reaping of lives, hearing the terrified screams of your neighbors coming from the young girls flanking his sides. 

This is what I encountered on my way to face the Court. It became easier and easier to put a bullet between the eyes of the banshees, after they stopped looking like her. Once I entered the temple, though, I was genuinely shocked to find her, alive and sitting in the place of the Shadow Judge. I ran to her, joyous to see her once again. But as I closed in on her, I saw the look of disdain she was throwing my way.

"They told me everything." 

The first words I hear from her after fifty years, and already my heart sunk well beneath my stomach. I tried to reason with her, explain why I had done the horrible thing I did, and to tell her I had no idea what the cost actually was until after I had given my blood oath. But my words fell upon deaf ears as I fell to the ground and pleaded with her. 

Everything turned dark soon after.

When I awoke, it appeared as though I was in Oakvale, before my wretched deed. I ran towards my old house, waving to people as I passed them. But I slowed, starting to realized that every single person wore a look of pure rage. And as I got closer to the home I was to share with her, the more decayed the people looked. The old farmer was leaning on his pitchfork, although upon further inspection, it appeared that his skin was melted to the polished wooden shaft. The market mistress was crawling on the ground, skin practically dripping from her frail bones. Her skirts were tattered and scorched, her skin was blackened from the fires I knew were soon to come. I managed to make my way to my door, and I paused. I turned to look at the people, the ones I had betrayed. I could not see all of their eyes, but those I did, had a dark, burning hate shining from them, a great contrast from their ashen or burned faces.

I was unable to grasp the door knob to my house, but was able to walk through the door as though it were a mist. And once inside, I saw a scene that at one time in my life, I would have been overjoyed to see:

My wife-to-be sat by the fire as happier and healthier version of me cooked for her, recanting my day at work in the market. It was a quaint little bubble in time, one that could have been. One that I had dreamed of but a lifetime ago. This, this was the reason I went to the court. I was weakened by disease, and I could not give her the life that she deserved. I had played with the shadows, had asked for something only their magic could give, and had paid the price. 

And then, I was shown how things really happened that day......  
She was curled up in a rocking chair in the corner, sighing. Outside, it appeared to be night time. I soon realized it was the night of the reaping. She must have been waiting for me to come home, having no idea that I was lying on a cold stone table, passed out from pain. And she also had no idea what was coming for her.

Soon, fire began to lick at the chair she was sitting in. She stared down in horror, trying to get away. She could not see the demons holding her down in the chair, preventing her escape.  
And I watched her burn, calling out my name, begging for me to help her. The flames licked her skin, almost as if in desire, and her skin began to burn and the putrid smell of burnt flesh filled the house.

I watched until I saw the very moment her body gave out and succumbed to the flames. And everything started over, like a broken record. 

Me, forcibly running up the hill towards my house. Entering through the door of mist. Watching what could have been. Watching her alone that night. Watching her die. 

They did this to me over and over, until they broke the cycle, bringing me back to the temple. The minute I hit the floor, I begged for them to stop, I would do whatever it takes.

The Judge walked before me, and promised me that I would no longer sleep, for they would plague my dreams with the scenes I saw before, over and over again. That is, until I brought them what they asked for.

I left that temple, but not without leaving something behind. My heart. My hopes. Everything about me from my past life, was gone. That version of myself died, as the Shadow Court ripped my very being to shreds, showing me the death of Her. That was the first and last time I dragged an innocent to the temple and shot them in the back of the head as they were commenting on the spooky atmosphere and archaic architecture.

......................................

Pulling himself back into reality, he made his way to the deck, wanting some fresh air, and a wide open space. His cabin was beginning to feel like a rat trap.

"Oi, Cap'n. Whateryeh doin' topside? Yeh should be sleepin' like the rest of the crew" Ah, he forgot that the ship's actual captain still had to man the steering wheel.

"I decided it was time to spend my night up here, away from the ghastly smells and sounds coming from your crew, Maghe." He replied, making his way over to the captain. He leaned on the railing as he walked up the steps, still recovering.

"Well, tis a borin' night, nothin' special is goin' on. Though, the air is nice and crisp, better than is has been." Maghe pulled out a pipe, and started digging through his pockets for his pipe weed. 

"Well, perhaps boring is what I require. After all, there are only so many battles one person can handle." The pirate leaned against the railing on the back of the ship, his back facing the captain. He wiped his face with a pocket handkerchief.

"Aye, though we all thought yeh could keep goin'. Yeh never seem to get tired after raiding another cave." Finally finding the bag he was looking for, Maghe packed his pipe and lit it. He took a long drag, looking thoughtfully towards his superior. "Yeh got somethin' on yer mind, Reavah?" he asked.

"Not really, though, we may be in port for awhile once we reach Bloodstone. It has been a while since I've thrown a little, soiree." Reaver replied, beginning to go through his funds in his head, finally deciding that he could afford the more expensive booze this time, once the numbers decided to stop spinning, that is. Maybe he could actual invite Sparrow to this one, though he doubted that she would actually show her face.

"None of yer parties have been labeled as li'l, Cap'n. Yeh throw the biggest and baddest you possibly can afford, and then it's right back to sailin'." Maghe leaned on the wheel for support.

"That being said, I was hoping to see Sparrow again. Maybe move, find somewhere closer. Time are changing my dear Maghe. I may give up my sailing days and move up in the social classes." Reaver nodded thoughtfully, wishing desperately that he had not left his flask back in his room.  
Maghe sighed, almost sadly, but nodded. He knew better than to question Reaver's antics. Last time someone on the ship did, he lost his first mate. He pulled out his own flask, taking a swig before holding it and it's contents out for Reaver, who gladly accepted. They sat in silence for many minutes after they finished the captain's cheap whiskey.

Reaver eventually went back down to his cabin, hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep in his feather bed, before rising again to bark orders at his crew. After all, he did have a lot of planning to do.


	2. Arrival at Bloodstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His arrival doesn't go as expected, in fact, it adds even more to his plate than he had hoped for. Let's just get this sacrifice over with. Royalty be damned.

_**THUD** _

 

_What the HELL was that?_

 

**_THUD_ **

 

_That cannot be good._

 

Reaver rose for the second time that morn, to a noise that was above his cabin, and should not be. He quickly slipped on his boots, not bothering to lace them up, he would not be leaving the ship for some hours. As he climbed the steps that led him topside, Reaver saw that the crew was all roused and working before he was, which was a first.

 

**_THUD_ **

 

"MADGE, WOULD YOU BE SO KIND AS TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHY YOUR CREW IS ROMPING AROUND ABOVE MY QUAR-" he was quieted by a swift blow to the gut, which was hard, but not hard enough to knock him off his feet. Just back a few feet. When he straightened himself, he found himself staring up into a familiar face.

He grimaced.  _This was not what I needed today._

"Hammer! How great it is to see you! Say, it would not have been you, who woke me from my sleep, would it?" He questioned carefully, noting several massive marks on the deck that, no doubt, had come from Hammer's massive weapon. Said weapon was precariously balanced on her shoulder.

"Well, it migh'of been me, it migh'of not been. Who's to say?" Hammer grinned, letting her hammer  _ **THUD**_ against the deck one last time, for good measure.

"If it had been you, not saying that it was, I might have to ask if you would KINDLY stop WRECKING MY SHIP." Reaver replied, looking down distastefully at the newly created dent.

"If'in you got a pretty penny, and a minute of your time, I migh' 'ave to oblige." She said, extending her flattened palm towards Reaver.

"Yes yes, of course. I couldn't leave another Hero penniless, now could I? It's not the sort of character I have built myself up to be." He grumbled, motioning for the giant woman to follow him below. The crew members were chattering among themselves, until their captain came out of the map room, barking orders left and right.

 

"Nice place you've got here, Reavah." Hammer commented once they reached his cabin. She set her weapon by the door, and sat herself down on a chest nearby.

"How kind of you to notice. To what do I owe this  _pleasant_ visit?" Reaver was about elbow deep in his suitcase, searching for a money pouch or wallet. And yes, he has several.

"Well, it seems to be that the ol' Sparrow is requestin' you to come visit her." She responded, pulling a letter from a bag at her hip. She held it out to Reaver, who had just located some pocket money for the woman.

"Oh, and how is the old girl doing, hmmm? Still gallivanting around Albion, slaying all those who are truly wicked?" He said, trading packages with her. He skimmed through the letter, noticing the odd sentences through out.

Certain things would stand out to him, specific words that seemed to jump off the paper, such as  **Queen** ,  **Tied down with duties** , and the odd,  **Arrive Discretely** tossed in every other paragraph. Honestly, it's not like he  _couldn't_ be quiet and secretive. And why on earth would Sparrow send Hammer?

"So she is the Queen now? How on this EARTH could that vigilante manage something like that?" He mused aloud, glancing to his companion.

"Beats me, she didn't quite give me any details. I just know she's impor'ant now, and she wants all us 'Heros' together at the palace soon. Very soon." Hammer stood again, attempting to peek at the letter over Reaver's shoulder. Reaver, at this point, chose to close the letter, and fully face his fellow Hero.

"Ah, yes, it must be something quite important if she's willing to risk having Garth and I in the same building. Tell me, have you heard from the old man?" Reaver asked, wanting to get as much knowledge from Hannah as he possibly could before risking heading farther into the country.

"Locked 'isself away in 'is tower in Brightwood, though he had some help from mahself rebuilding." Hammer replied, looking proud. Reaver nodded, not entirely surprised by this news.

"More of an introvert, he is. Always has been. Never saw much use in Will, though I never saw much of a use for Strength either," He mumbles, carelessly tossing an insult Hammer's way, "Skill has still done very well by me. Saved my neck in a few tricky situations down south." 

"Just 'urry up. We're s'pose to travel together." Hammer grabbed her weapon and headed for the door. THIS news, struck Reaver hard, and made him anxious.

"Well, I have some business to attend to here in Bloodstone, so if you would, set off without me. I'll catch up with you in Bowerstone, or closer." He wanted her gone, this was not something he intended to deal with, and he doesn't need the company to the temple.

"I can wait. There are a few good pubs around here, are there not? Come find me when you're ready." And with that, the amazonian tall woman was gone and up on the deck. Reaver groaned once the door had fallen closed. No, this is not what he needed.

He gathered a few necessities, and walked out on deck as well. This was going to be a long week. He could feel it in his bones.


End file.
